A Mentor of Sorts
by CompletelyDone
Summary: When Scorpius finds himself in a bit of a rut, Harry attempts to come to his aid. One-Shot.


**Greetings to all. I hit the dreaded wall known as writer's block for a while there, but I'm hopefully back on top of things now. Thanks for being patient, I hope to tend to some unfinished business known as "Marry Me. Or Don't." pretty soon here, too.**

**Well, read and enjoy this One-Shot! Love to all.**

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Steaming mug in hand, Harry stepped out onto the porch of the Burrow. The wind rustled excitedly through the ever-changing trees, an early sign of fall in the middle of August. Taking a seat on the bench just below the kitchen window, he released a puff of hot air that he didn't know he had been holding in. As new summer air cascaded into every inch of his lungs, Harry melted further into his seat and let his eyelids block out the light of the setting sun.

Although this particular bench was by no means comfortable, he generally found himself sitting in it every moment he could spare. It was his place to go unnoticed. No one crossed to this side of the house unless the sun was high and the air was feverish. Aside from the trodden-down trails in the knee-high grass, there was little sign of the area being used whatsoever. The hinges of the kitchen door would scream with decay when anyone forced them open, and the shutters over the window were worn from many years-worth of sun and rain.

It was another year of feasting and family at the Weasley abode, something that Harry had long been accustomed to but had never grown tired of. He had narrowly escaped the 'adult' conversation in the foyer and had no trouble getting out of playing Gobstones with the horde of the Weasley teenagers and their schoolmates. No one knew where he was or what he did out on that bench, save for Ginny, who knew seemed to be all-knowing in these matters. In every matter, as far as Harry was concerned.

So just as Ron had devoured nearly half of the Self-Propelling Custard Pie that Molly Weasley had prepared for dinner, Harry devoured the stillness and silence of his surroundings.

He didn't even flinch when he heard two bickering voices grow louder and louder with each passing moment. He had resolved to stay absolutely still; his desire to have a moment of peace always came second to his curiosity about the whereabouts of his family and friends. Particularly Rose and Scorpius, who were fast-approaching his sightline.

It was moments like these that Harry believed he was born to become a Weasley. George would be proud.

"Rose, please. Just hear me out. It isn't what it seems like," the young Malfoy boy was built for his age. Nearly seventeen, Scorpius was several inches taller than many of the Weasley-Potter men, Harry included. The muscular broadness of his shoulders could be seen through his shirt and he walked with a powerful gait. Albus, Harry's son and Scorpius' best friend, had mentioned that the blonde lad had been preparing early for Auror training. If only James would do the same.

"It isn't what it seems like?" Rose bit at him, red curls radiating from her heart-shaped face. "You didn't talk to me for two whole months. How is it supposed to seem?"

From the bench under the kitchen window, Harry could see the redness of Rose's face and the whiteness of her clenched knuckles. It was one thing to see the young Weasley girl get angry, but it was another matter entirely to see her be angry with Scorpius. From what Al had told Harry, Rose and Scorpius had always been pleasant with one another. It hadn't even occurred to Harry that he hadn't seen the pair together all summer until then.

Scorpius ran his hand through his golden hair and shifted awkwardly on the spot. "I know I haven't really been around at-"

"No, Malfoy," Rose stabbed, stunning Scorpius with her tone of voice, "you haven't _really_ been around. You haven't been around at all. So you know what I think? You can take your apology and shove it right back where it came from."

Harry watched as Rose receded down a grassy trail; he knew immediately where she intended to go. When Rose reached a rackety shed not a hundred meters from the house, she threw open the door and pulled out her broom, a bat, and a Bludger. Both Scorpius and Harry observed as she fiercely mounted her broom and threw the Bludger away from herself before taking off into the air and beginning to pummel it with her worn-out bat.

The air seemed a little colder now, partially because the sun was slowly disappearing into the horizon, and partially because Harry's coffee was no longer piping hot. He took a swig from his mug before glancing back to where Scorpius had been standing. To Harry's surprise, Scorpius was merely ten feet away, sitting on the aging steps of the porch, intently watching Rose.

His eyes were fixed on her, but a faraway glaze covered them. His elbows were on his knees and his fingers were pressed together near his mouth, as if he was contemplating something important. He looked an awful lot like a Malfoy just then, Harry decided.

Several minutes passed and the boy barely moved.

"She'll cool down in twenty minutes or so," Harry spoke up, he turned his eyes back to Rose, who was mercilessly whacking away at the Bludger. The staircase screeched beneath Scorpius' sudden movement.

Scorpius cleared his throat. "I'm sorry if we disturbed you, Mr. Potter," he spoke softly.

Harry shook his head, "Harry. Call me Harry. We've known each other too long for such formalities." It was true. Albus and Scorpius had been close friends for years now; Scorpius often stayed at the Potter home for weeks at a time during the summer.

"Harry," Scorpius corrected himself. He glanced thoughtfully back at Rose. "May I ask you something?"

"Fire away," Harry said invitingly. He watched as the younger man stood and began to pace the ever-creaking entryway, gaze rarely leaving the flaming redhead in the sky.

Scorpius finally stopped pacing. His jaw tightened and his shoulders were taught. "How does one reason with a Weasley?"

Harry nearly choked on his drink of coffee. Once he had swallowed, he struggled to simultaneously laugh and cough up the coffee that he had swallowed incorrectly. The bewildered look on Scorpius' face made the elder hack even more in appreciation. "Well, generally speaking," He started when he had begun to breathe normally again, "you can't."

At this, Scorpius' face visibly grew more solemn, if that was at all possible.

"But in Rose's case, I would just tell her the truth," Harry tried to keep a straight face, but utterly failed. The corners of his mouth twitched in amusement.

Scorpius was at a loss. "Excuse me?"

"I believe you know to what I'm referring," he lifted his mug to his lips, careful that he was able to swallow properly this time around. Part of Harry hoped that Scorpius was surprised at his intuitiveness; the other part of him wondered if he had also been oblivious to how apparent he was as a young adult.

"It's that obvious?" It was meant as a question but sounded very much like a statement. The ancient bench shook dangerously when Scorpius took a seat next to Harry. "Well, I can't say I'm surprised. Al figured it out."

Harry had to chuckle at that. His son, while extremely bright with school work, was generally unaware of social cues and gossip.

Rose smashed the Bludger twenty-four times in the silence that followed. Harry had counted.

"I can't tell her. I don't want to risk losing her," Scorpius nearly whispered. The blonde hair atop his head was extremely disheveled due to the number of times his hand had combed through it; that was certainly a habit that had been picked up from Albus. "I'm just not sure how to act around her anymore."

It was obvious where this was headed. "So you avoided her?"

A deep sigh resonated in Scorpius. "Yeah. I'm a bleeding idiot, aren't I?"

Sometimes Harry wished that he was better at giving advice, especially during moments where he found himself at a loss such as this.

"You know," he finally broke the silence, "Ron was in the same place as you once."

Every muscle in the young man's jaw tightened disbelief. "With Mrs. W—Hermione?"

"Actually, I reckon he was even more daft than you," memories of sixth year flooded back in number. "He figured he could run away from it all by snogging some other bird. Needless to say, Hermione didn't speak to him for months."

Blue eyes once again fell on red hair; Harry once again wished he had been blessed with great wisdom.

"The way I see it, you have nothing to lose," the elder tentatively played devil's advocate. A sizeable part of him just wanted to say that he had seen it happen first. After all, there was a large bet on the line between several adults in the family; even some kids, like Lily and Roxanne had joined in. "She's already upset with you anyways."

A comfortable silence fell between them, but Harry swore that he could hear the wheels in Scorpius' head turning away. The horizon was a blur of pink and deep purples that seemed to follow the sun as it slowly fell from the sky.

Scorpius abruptly stood as Rose descended from her broom; Harry felt a chilled breeze drift upon him from the young boy's movement.

"Bloody-" Scorpius started to say before catching himself. His feet carried him swiftly down the porch steps as he turned to speak to Harry. "If Rose is anything like Mr. Weasley, I'd prefer that he didn't know about this conversation." He suddenly slowed, as if he were dragging his feet through thick mud. "In fact, none of this ever happened."

Sitting back contentedly, the middle-age man smirked, "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

Smiling gratefully the young Malfoy found a spring to his step once more and ran after Rose, who had just emerged from the cobweb-infested storage shed, looking rather windblown.

Harry hadn't lied. He had every intention of pretending that he hadn't talked to Scorpius, seen him trying to get Rose to listen, or witnessed Scorpius backing her into a nearby tree. Or any moment after that.

That plan quickly went to waste as soon as he heard the loud swears of Ron through the kitchen window.

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